Of Gargoyles and Cherubs
by johnsarmylady
Summary: Modern day Paris, but something - or someone stalks the gothic sewers so beloved of Les Mis fans. Two unlikely people join forces to help the Police Nationale before the breaking day covers their tracks. A tale told in 221B style, rated T because I don't quite know what will happen with this.
1. From the Shadows

**I apologise now for posting what one of my A03 reviewers was pleased to call "a paragraph" - since she/he did, I find myself strangely drawn to writing more multi-chapter 221B's...so here is my latest offering of that genre, I hope you enjoy :)**

In the midnight darkness of the Place Jean-Paul ll a tall, dark haired man stepped out of the shadow of the great gothic edifice of Notre Dame de Paris. His sharp features were highlighted by the shaft of moonlight, stabbing its way between the clouds to catch him like a spotlight.

Pale skin and full cupids bow lips were near perfection, like a living statue, and he completed that impression by standing tall and still, his breath on the cool night air the only thing that moved.

At a slight scuffling sound he turned, the moonlight catching his silver grey eyes as he scanned the shadow at the side of the building.

"Who's there?" The voice was cultured, a deep resonant baritone, and it was greeted with a sharp intake of breath.

A heartbeat later the deep shadow shifted, and a shorter man stepped forward, his hair gleaming gold as he stepped up to share the other's light.

"What are you doing here?" the question was abrupt, rude even.

White teeth gleamed as a smile split the tanned, kindly face.

"I watch you, you know. Every night."

"That wasn't my question…."

"No? But I told you, I'm watching you."

"Every night you said, so tell me, what will I do now?"

"You'll cross the Pont au Double to the Left Bank."


	2. May I?

"Then what?" The taller man looked intrigued, but his companion just shrugged.

"Dunno." He admitted. "It would have been rude to follow you."

"Yet you don't think it rude to watch me?" There was an edge of haughty aggression in the first man's voice.

"Have as much right to be here as you, and I'm interested in what goes on around me so no, I don't think it's rude." That 100 watt smile was back in full force as the blond considered his next words. "I can't guarantee though that if I didn't belong here, that I wouldn't find a reason to be here at midnight."

Then the smile faded a little.

"Where do you go?"

"I work with the Police Nationale."

"The Surete?"

"They haven't been called that for many years, do keep up!"

The blond head tilted and took on a thoughtful expression.

"You look too young to have worked with them for 'many years' so, how long have you been doing this?"

One slender shoulder shrugged negligently.

"About five years."

The smaller man whistled through his teeth.

"So, you're really into this police lark." He said, his smile returning. "Can I come with you?"

"Can you what?"

"I'd like to come with you. May I?"

After a moment or two the taller man smiled.

"Could be dangerous."

"Brilliant!"


	3. What's in a Name?

The taller man started to walk towards the Left bank, his new associate falling into step beside him, and as they walked it became obvious that he was quite happy to bask in the companionable silence.

However the tall one had a curious nature, and although he was not generally one for small talk he was intrigued. He thought he knew every creature that frequented the Place Jean-Paul ll, but he had never seen the like of this one before.

"So," he said, finally breaking the silence. "Do you have a name?"

"John." the smaller man smiled.

"Jean?" he repeated, giving it a French pronunciation.

"No, just plain, old fashioned Anglicised John." he wasn't offended. "And what about you?"

"Sherlock." He said after a long pause.

"Really?" John asked curiously. "I'd say it suits you, and it would, were it not for your hair being the wrong colour."

Sherlock stopped and looked down at his new friend.

"What do you mean?"

He looked so put out that John chuckled, covering his curved lips with his hand as if to hold the mirth back in.

"Well," he said, finally getting himself under control. "The second part of your name, 'lock' means hair….."

"Yes, yes, that's all very interesting but…."

"Yeah but you see, the beginning bit means 'Bright', so actually you're Brightlocks"


	4. The Nicest Places

Sherlock huffed and walked on, not at all sure that he appreciated his new friend's comments.

"Where are we going?" John asked, looking at the taxi rank with interest as he and Sherlock approached.

The taller man climbed in, waiting until John had followed before directing the taxi driver.

"Pont de l'Alma."

"What's there?"

"The Musee Des Egouts De Paris."

"A sewer museum, nice." He paused, then "You take a chap to all the nicest places!"

For a heartbeat Sherlock stared, John hiccupped a giggle, and suddenly the sounds of their laughter filled the vehicle.

"You're mad." Sherlock chuckled as they regained some semblance of control.

"Says the man who frequents sewers in the middle of the night."

As they spilled out of the cab at their destination Sherlock threw a handful of Euros at the driver. Ahead of them was a police cordon, and a rather fierce looking female officer standing by it, keeping spectators away.

"Why're you here?" She asked with a sneer.

"Lestrade sent for me." He pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and waggled it. She ignored him and looked at John.

"Who's this."

"A colleague."

"Really? Where'd you find a colleague."

John watched the exchange with interest but said nothing.

With a shrug the officer lifted her radio.

"Freak's here, bringing him round the back."


	5. Police Nationale

Inspector Lestrade had worked his way up through the ranks, from patrolling the seedier Parisian streets to a senior position in the Police Judiciaire. He was a good officer, a good judge of people, so when his sergeant grumbled, and called the tall dark haired man a freak he let it ride, knowing that she was just getting it out of her system, and he seemed not to care.

On discovering this scene of carnage, he contacted Sherlock. He had never asked why the man would only respond to his texts after midnight – the times when he tried to contact him during the day, or early evening his communications remained firmly unanswered – so Lestrade waited, often impatiently, until he arrived on scene.

He noted as Sherlock was being escorted around to the perpetrator's point of entry that tonight he wasn't alone.

Dismissing his Sergeant with a look, Lestrade caught Sherlock's eye and nodded towards the smaller blond-haired man who was currently looking around with interest, raising his eyebrows in question.

Sherlock smiled.

"This is my colleague, John." He said.

Hearing his name mentioned John looked back at Sherlock and then smiled at the Inspector.

Lestrade nodded, there would be time for questions later. Instead he gestured to the damaged back door.

"Through there," he said. "And don't step in the blood."


	6. The Scene of the Crime

Moving carefully in Sherlock's footsteps John followed the two men into the museum. The blood was spread wider the further in they travelled, and as they stepped through the entrance to the main sewer system it was no longer just spread around the floor and flicked up the walls.

Here it was literally painted across every surface, walls ceiling floor, in strange symbols and odd hieroglyphics.

"What do these mean?" John asked, looking around him at markings.

"That's what I'm hoping Sherlock will tell me." Lestrade muttered looking at the back of the tall man's head.

Sherlock had stopped, and was peering through a magnifying glass at the walls.

"This blood isn't from the victim, there's far too much."

"More than one victim?" John suggested.

Sherlock pointed at the blood on the floor.

"There's only one set of drag marks. We'll find the body eventually, but before we do you might want to get one of your officers to check out the blood banks. There are at least two in Paris, and one of them is missing some supplies."

Lestrade nodded, moving back to where one of his junior officers stood waiting for instruction.

John stepped up beside his friend.

"What now?" he asked.

"I hope you have a strong stomach." Sherlock looked down at him, "because this is pure butchery."


	7. Seriously Sherlock?

Slowly they moved onwards into the tunnels that once carried effluent away from the fetid streets and alleyways.

The sound of their footsteps echoed, and as Lestrade rejoined them Sherlock turned to him with a frown.

"Keep the noise down, I'm trying to listen."

The officer rolled his eyes and fell into step beside John.

"Is he always like this?" the smaller man asked.

Lestrade shrugged.

"You tell me."

"I dunno, we've only just met."

"What!?" Lestrade's shout echoed around the walls. "Oi, Sherlock! What the hell are you playing at, bringing a complete stranger to a crime scene?"

"Oh not a complete stranger," came the smiling reply. "We know his name, and anyway, he was interested."

Wide eyed, Lestrade opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words were forthcoming.

"It's okay, I won't touch anything." John reassured the officer.

"And another set of eyes might be helpful." Sherlock turned and continued walking.

John grinned at the older man and set off after his new friend.

"They'll have my head for this if they find out," he muttered. "Thank God Sally didn't hear that."

The sound of a strangled gasp from John moments later had the detective running to catch up. Around a bend in the tunnel he saw the bloodied corpse hanging from the ceiling by a belt.


	8. Modus Operandi?

Despite years of experience the sight still turned Lestrade's stomach.

The victim had been eviscerated, his entrails trailing across the floor. Sherlock was already examining the body closely, his magnifying glass in his hand as he peered at the jagged incision running the length of the torso.

A little worriedly Lestrade cast a glance at the smaller man standing back slightly from the scene, but John was apparently at ease, watching Sherlock as he danced back and forth around the body.

"Not a knife wound." Sherlock said eventually. "Some kind of broad, sharp implement. Strange tearing to the skin..."

"Can I see?" John moved forward but Lestrade grabbed his arm.

"This isn't some kind of show..."

Both John and Sherlock just looked at him. His hand fell away and he stepped aside.

Looking first at the trailing innards, John then tipped his head so far to the side that Lestrade was sure he would fall over.

"What have you seen?" Sherlock asked, watching with interest as John pointed out the grazes to the victim's legs, feet and genitals. They were ingrained with dirt and grit from the tunnel floor.

"I'd say whatever it was, it was stuck in him here," he pointed to the lowest point of the incision. "And then he was dragged along, tearing the skin and trailing blood."


	9. False Trail

Glancing back along the tunnel Sherlock nodded.

"Excellent, well done John, I believe you may be right."

"Really?" There was something about Lestrade's voice that made his consultant look up. "And you don't think it strange that someone you only met tonight could figure that out?"

Sherlock's eyes flicked across to John, who was standing looking patiently at the Inspector, his head tilted to one side.

"John?"

"Well, you said the wound looked strange, torn. Add that to the dirt and the drag marks and it's the only logical explanation."

"He has a point Lestrade." There was the hint of a smirk around Sherlock's lips, and a knowing look that told the policeman that he had already arrived at the same conclusion himself.

Lestrade sighed. "What else?"

Sherlock pointed to bloody boot prints that stopped just yards ahead of them.

"He obviously wants us to think that he went down the tunnel, but he removed his boots and returned the way he came."

"And you know this because...?"

With a grin the dark haired man whirled around and headed back the way they had travelled, stopping a little short of the tunnel entrance and whipping out his magnifier once more.

"These prints he left here show he was actually walking barefoot as he left."

John looked at him.

"Amazing!" he beamed.


	10. Inhuman Trail

In the torchlight Lestrade noticed something odd about the print.

"That looks…."

"Inhuman? Hmm." Sherlock crouched down, careful to keep his coat from trailing in the spilled blood. "Look closely, you'll see that the skin has a scaly quality, and the toes, see those John?"

"Is that…. Are those….. claws?" John's voice dropped to a whisper.

"They are."

"Claws?" The police officer asked, startled.

"Well, not exactly claws as you are thinking Inspector, I'd say that the scaling is down to skin infection, and the toenails are so long they've started to curl under." As he spoke Sherlock was walking, bent double, back towards the entrance, stopping every now and then to look more closely at the marks on the floor.

At last they emerged from the tunnels, into the brighter light of the museum where Sherlock stopped and turned around several times, his eyes scanning every possible surface from floor to ceiling.

"What?" John asked, seeing the thoughtful frown on his friend's face.

"The marks and footprints, they go no further than the tunnel." Sherlock muttered, more to himself than the assembled listeners.

"Strange." The smaller man agreed, and then looked thoughtfully at the other man. "Can I make an observation?"

Sherlock stopped turning and looked closely at him. "Go on."

"With feet like those, our killer couldn't wear boots."


	11. Curioser and Curioser

"Excellent John!" Sherlock's eyes were alight with the intrigue of it all. "See Lestrade, I knew it was a good idea to bring him along."

John grinned.

Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Sir?" from somewhere behind him Sally Donovan's voice drew the attention of all three men.

Lestrade beckoned her forward, eyebrows raised.

"Freak was right, the blood bank at the Franco-Britannique maternity unit on the Rue Barbes was broken into and several bags of blood removed." She glanced at Sherlock, who was busy staring around. "Lucky guess then, Freak?"

"Obvious deduction Sergeant." His voice sounded distant as he examined the hieroglyphs once more.

"What have you seen?" John asked, stepping up and peering over his shoulder.

"That out killer has a sense of humour." He turned suddenly, making John stumble backwards into Lestrade.

"Careful!" the detective scolded. "We don't need him to fall in that mess and ruin the evidence."

"To say nothing of ruining my clothes." John muttered, straightening up and nodding his thanks.

Sherlock meanwhile was gesticulating wildly at the markings around them.

"They're not hieroglyphs, they're just finger paintings, random finger paintings." He paused for a moment. "If I didn't know better I'd say this was the work of a small child."

"Eeew!"

They turned in unison to stare at Sally.

"Something wet just dripped down my back!"


	12. At Last!

John stepped up and shone his torch onto the back of Sally's head, moving its beam down the back of her jacket.

"Looks like water." He peered closely . "Yeah, definitely just water."

"Interesting." Sherlock said, joining him and stroking his fingers through Sally's hair then rubbing his fingers together meditatively.

"Oi Freak! Leave my hair alone…." Sally screeched, her voice echoing down the tunnels.

Lestrade sucked in his cheeks to prevent a smile breaking through. From behind the sergeant John threw him a grin.

"I was merely checking John's findings," Sherlock lifted his fingers and sniffed. "Not clean water though, it has the smell of petrol and diesel."

"How?"

"Rainwater run-off, this has washed off the roads and down the drains."

Turning his attention back to the walls and ceiling of the tunnel Sherlock moved nimbly back down towards the body and beyond, his head swivelling as if unconnected from his neck.

Ten yards or so past the corpse he stopped and looked up, backed up a pace and held out his hand. Watched by three pairs of eyes he finally sniffed his fingers once more.

"What have you found?" Lestrade asked as the slender man hurried past him, back to where Sally had been standing and looked up once more.

"Lestrade," he said, "I believe we've made a breakthrough!"


	13. Under the Quai d'Orsay

Stalking back into the museum Sherlock pinned a frightened looking elderly man with his sharp gaze.

"You." He said abruptly. "You are the curator, yes?"

The old man nodded, flinching as Sherlock strode forward and grabbed his shoulders, staring intently down at him.

"You know the history of this place, of the sewers themselves?"

"Why yes," a small smile broke over the curators weathered face. "I'm considered to be the foremost auth…."

"Yes, yes, so you would know all about the tunnel?"

John caught Sherlock's eye and quirked an eyebrow at him. Sherlock stopped and stared.

"What?"

"Manners Sherlock, cost nothing."

Lestrade smiled, he was beginning to like this newcomer.

Sherlock huffed and turned back to curator.

"Before they replaced this as the main sewer how did the water run from the streets to the sewer passage?"

"The government added pipes that led direct from the drains in the road to the sewer." The old man explained. "The roads above them are hardly used now, so when they re-routed the drains they simply blocked the ones above here, and the first kilometre along this tunnel." He scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"All of them?" Sally asked, earning her a glare from Sherlock.

"Four of them," came the immediate reply. "The rest were left under the new foundations of the Quai d'Orsay, buried."


	14. Chasing Clues

"Come on John!"

The old man had barely finished speaking when Sherlock grabbed John's arm and dragged him towards the museum exit.

"Hang on!" Lestrade called, hurrying after them. "What about the body? Can we move it yet?"

"What?" Distracted, Sherlock paused. "Yes of course you can, I'm finished with it. Just find out who he is."

Lestrade gaped.

John, seemingly by accident kicked Sherlock's ankle as he followed closely behind him.

"Sorry." He muttered when the taller man yelped in pain, but before he disappeared John glanced back over his shoulder at Lestrade and winked.

The officer choked back a laugh.

"Did he just….?" Sally asked, frowning.

"He did." Waving his forensics team forward he added "See what you can do about an ID would you? I'd better get after them before they cause an International incident."

Sally watched him trot off, shaking her head in disbelief.

xXx

The sound of movement amongst the trees and shrubs outside the building guided Lestrade's steps.

"Er…. Sherlock…." John's disembodied voice came from a clump of Rhododendrons that edged the footpath. Both Sherlock and Lestrade headed towards him.

"Careful where you step." John cautioned. He moved a few branches aside and pointed.

In the soft earth were more strange looking footprints, an open sewer cover, and an empty transfusion bag hanging on the bush.


	15. Bad News

"Another one." Sherlock rubbed his hands gleefully.

"What?" Lestrade ejaculated. "What do you mean another one? What the hell is going on here?"

"Over there," the dark haired man gestured back the way he came. "If John hadn't called out first we'd be standing over there."

"Sorry." John said softly.

"No don't be, this one is far more interesting."

"Really?"

"Look at the footprints John, all I have is….." Sherlock stopped suddenly and looked back. "_Oh_."

"Sherlock?" Lestrade enquired, but he was talking to thin air as the man was dashing back to the other sewer opening.

John looked at him and shrugged, then set off after his friend.

"See here," Sherlock pulled a small torch from his pocket and directed the beam at the ground to the side of the open cover.

There, at the edge of the muddy patch was a partial handprint.

"Two perpetrators? Jesus!" Lestrade groaned, and reached for the radio attached to his belt.

Although he moved away to talk John could hear him telling his sergeant the bad news, and he took the opportunity to move closer to Sherlock.

"Those footprints…."

"I have my theory." Sherlock put a finger to his lips and glanced over the smaller man's shoulder at the police officer. "Suffice to say I believe I know who the victim might be."


	16. Rules for a Working Partnership

As John waited expectantly for Sherlock to expound upon his theory, Gregory Lestrade was waiting for his sergeant to join him.

Sherlock gave a small jerk of his head and then stepped away, stopping by the edge of the grass verge and pointing to a small plastic card lying on the floor.

"That's a visitor's pass into the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique." He said in a distant, slightly distracted voice, as if still pulling information together as he spoke. "If I'm right, and I generally am, then the footprints we saw down in the tunnel and again that you found by the sewer entrance are not human…."

"Wait…. What?" John gasped.

"Hmmm." Sherlock walked off towards the rhododendron bush, oblivious to whether or not his friend followed him.

By the time that John had caught up he was crouched down by the strange imprints, still talking.

"…..and what we thought were claws but dismissed as overgrown toenails are actually neither, they are the normal toe and nail configuration."

"Did you actually notice I wasn't with you then?" John chuckled despite the seriousness of the situation.

"For goodness sake John, if you're going to work with me you have to keep up, I like nothing less than to repeat myself." He continued to examine the prints. "In fact, it's boring."


	17. Beyond Belief

Sherlock turned his head and looked up and his voice trailed off as for a moment he was distracted by the fact that John was standing directly in line with the full moon. The bright orb circled his head, giving the impression of a halo surrounding his golden hair.

With a grin John tipped his head to one side.

"What?" he asked when no more information was forthcoming. "Cat got your tongue?"

"No." Sherlock turned back to look at the ground. "It wouldn't dare!"

John's burst of laughter was both infectious and entirely out of place in their present situation, and it brought Gregory and Sally back to his side.

"What's funny?" Sally asked, barely able to conceal her animosity. "I expected that from the Freak, maybe I should have realised his odd friend was just as bad."

"Enough." Lestrade said wearily, as if this was an ongoing argument that he was tired of acting as referee for. "Sherlock, wanna tell me what you've found?"

"Listen carefully," Sherlock said as he stood up, "I shall say this only once. I was wrong, our perpetrator didn't remove his boots and walk back out of the tunnel; he climbed out through the old sewer inlets."

Lestrade whistled through his teeth.

"And the second perpetrator?" Sally asked.

"Is strange enough to stretch your belief."


	18. A Case for Observation

"Have you identified the victim?"

Sally looked at Sherlock through narrowed eyes.

"Yes we have, his clothes were found stuffed under the staff counter, his ID pass was in his pocket."

"And he worked for CNRS."

"Yes, how did you know?"

Sherlock just looked at her pityingly.

"I knew our victim was a scientist by the residue of powder from his latex gloves stuck around his cuticles, and the skin on his elbows was roughened, ergo he leans on his elbows while using a microscope…"

John whistled softly through his teeth.

"Fantastic!" he praised the taller man.

"He doesn't need encouragement." Sally groaned quietly.

But John chose to ignore her, his focus never leaving the man at his side.

"So what is it about this second man that makes him strange?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock looked at the police officer, his eyes flashing with interest and intrigue.

"What makes him strange is that he is not a man at all, Lestrade." He waited, slowing turning his head to take in the stunned expressions. "The answers are right in front of you; all you have to do is follow the clues."

"Okay, so tell us, what have we missed?"

"Ah John, you see but you do not observe!" Sherlock gestured at his three companions. "What is it like in your funny little brains?"


	19. The Penny is Beginning to Drop

Sherlock shook his head and looked around at his companions.

"CNRS have recently been the target of activists; the laboratories have been broken into and wrecked on several occasions, so let me tell you what I know about our victim." He thrust his hands into his coat pockets. "The latest research that the organisation has been conducting has involved animal behaviours and the kind of drugs that are easily accessible to anyone who frequents the nightclubs of Paris."

Seeing that he had their undivided attention Sherlock smiled.

"I see the penny is beginning to drop…"

"Oh dear God." Sally's voice was a whisper. "Our victim is Pierre Bonniface, senior clinical technologist."

"And his speciality…" Sherlock reached across and plucked something from the bush. "…was primate studies." He held up his finger and thumb. Pinched between them was a longish red hair.

"That's…." John stared.

"Yes it is John, this is from an Orang-Utan. Our second perpetrator is a well-trained member of the ape family classified as the genus Pongo…"

Sally sniggered.

"No laughing matter Sergeant, the Orang-Utan is one of the cleverest of the species, loyal to a fault, and unlikely to take kindly to you trying to arrest its dominant male."

"How do you know about the dominant male?"

"It's following a human, that's the only thing it _can_ be."

**A/N: For those of you who haven't already recognised this, I would like to thank Mr Edgar Allen Poe for the story The Murders in the Rue Morgue which inspired my use of this lovely creature as my second perpetrator.**


	20. Lines of Enquiry

Lestrade was the first to shake himself out of his state of shock, and he looked at his watch with a frown.

"Well, we'll get nowhere at 2am…."

"Wrong." Sherlock cut him off. "In the next few hours the perpetrators could get away, while you sit and wait for offices to open."

He waved vaguely at the sergeant.

"People that keep exotic pets have to register them." He explained as if to an idiot. "The penalty fines are enormous for not doing so. There you already have two lines of enquiry, one with the register…."

"And the other?" Sally sneered.

"Complaints of animal noises." John said his eyes wide with realisation. "No one would want to be caught with an unlicensed animal on their property; the law treats them as being equally guilty."

"Yes!" Sherlock exclaimed, beaming at the smaller man. "You see Sergeant? John's not even a police officer and he understands without having it spelled out for him."

"Now listen…"

"Not now Sally, let's get this moving." Lestrade rubbed at his neck as he looked around. "I'd rather Paris woke up to the news that it's solved and the perpetrator is behind bars, than that there's a lunatic on the loose."

The police officers turned to go.

" You coming?" Lestrade looked back over his shoulder. "Or staying behind?"


	21. Last Look

"We'll take a cab and be right behind you." Sherlock barely looked at Lestrade as the officer walked towards his vehicle. "Right John, we need to make sure we've missed nothing, because once Lestrade's forensic team meander all over this place there'll be nothing of note left to see."

John looked up at his friend.

"They're that bad?"

Sherlock shrugged and paced once more back to the other sewer cover.

With a grin John started to look around him, taking note of everything that looked like it might be out of place, but in truth once Sherlock had picked up the hair he had been looking in vain for more evidence.

"Nothing?"

John jumped as Sherlock materialised beside him.

"If I'm honest, I really don't know what I'm looking for." He admitted.

Sherlock smirked.

"Well at least you admit it, now if only the police were so honest…." His voice trailed off as he took a last glance around. "No, I believe we're done here, come John, time to find the rest of the hidden clues."

As he strode away John had to almost run to keep up with him, and by the time he reached the taxi stand he was puffing slightly.

Sherlock was already in the vehicle, and as John fell in beside him he grinned and sat back.


	22. Modest

"Where are we going then?" John made himself comfortable as the taxi sped through the night, and watched the play of streetlight's on the other man's face.

"Headquarters of the Police Nationale, hopefully Lestrade will have already accessed the lists we need."

"Will you catch him? The perpetrator I mean."

Sherlock looked at the smaller man and smiled.

"Of course." He said with absolute certainty. "Stick with me and I'll show you how to solve crimes in half the time it takes the so called professionals."

"Modest, aren't you." John commented.

"No point John, not when I'm surrounded by incompetence." He raised an eyebrow in his companion's direction, but John took no offence.

They pulled up outside a large many windowed building, and Sherlock threw some money at the driver as they climbed out, John following him closely as they swept through the building in silence.

Lestrade's office was completely empty.

"Sherlock?"

"He must have set up an incident room." The taller man muttered stepping back out and attracting the attention of a young officer. "Where's Lestrade?"

"Um…"

"Now would be good, we haven't got all night!"

The young man pointed to a side room, and the two friends headed straight in, Sherlock making straight for the table and the report folders, picking one up and sitting on a padded bench.


	23. Screaming

In silence the four of them worked, Lestrade and Sally trawling through the registry of exotic pet owners while John had joined Sherlock in looking through reports of strange noises and unusual activity, looking for anything that could be attributed to a large ape.

The hours ticked past, and Sherlock was seen to glance at the clock more than once, an expression of frustration on his face, it would soon be too late.

Lestrade pushed his chair away from the table, and was about to pour himself yet another coffee when Sherlock suddenly leapt to his feet.

"This report appears to have been left unchecked." He said, addressing the room in general. "It says 'sounds of inhuman screaming' were heard coming from a deserted and derelict house just off the Rue Buffon."

"That would be because the house was deserted." Sally spoke as if to an idiot.

John's eyebrows lost themselves in his fringe, and even Lestrade looked at her askance.

"Are you quite sure?" Sherlock's voice dropped several octaves, sounding menacing. "You don't think at the very least someone should have checked?"

Whatever his personal thoughts Lestrade wasn't going to let his sergeant be bullied.

"Strictly speaking it's not our division." He said.

"Well I suggest you make it yours," Sherlock replied. "And get us out there before dawn breaks."


	24. Proof

Traffic on the Rue Buffon was steady, given that it was still very early and the skies still dark.

With neither flashing light nor sirens to announce their presence, Lestrade pulled up to the kerb beside a small patch of open ground leading to the property.

As they alighted from the car Sherlock caught hold of John's arm.

"Let me go first, and try to walk where I walk, that way we won't compromise any evidence."

John nodded his agreement, but Sally just rolled her eyes then looked to her superior for instruction.

"Just do as he says." Lestrade said, resigned. He'd worked with Sherlock often enough to know that the other man knew how to preserve the scene.

One after the other they moved softly forwards, Sherlock shining his torch low and illuminating their path.

They had almost reached the side of the house when the tall man stopped and pointed to the ground. There, in the soft earth beside the grassy path was a footprint.

"That's the same as the one at the museum." John whispered.

"Proof that the animal was here recently." Sherlock replied equally softly

Moving on around the building, and were about to try the front door when an angry shriek made them look up. The orang-utan leapt at them from an upstairs window, teeth bared.


	25. Pursuit

John pushed Sally aside, putting himself in the animal's path, and the ape's forward momentum carried them both to the ground.

In an instant Sherlock took in the situation.

Lestrade already had his weapon drawn and was trying for a clear shot, while both John and Sally were trying to hold onto the creature but not to get in the way of the bullet, yet from inside the house he heard the sound of feet running up the stairs and without a second thought he took off after the murderer.

Sherlock closed his ears to the shouts from his companions and the ape's angry screeching as his feet flew to the upper level of the building in hot pursuit.

He didn't even acknowledge the loud, violent report followed by eerie silence, nor Lestrade's voice shouting after him, as he finally cornered the man in the room the animal had jumped from.

"Keep back or I'll kill you." The man was shorter than Sherlock but stocky, with arms strengthened by years of physical toil. In one meaty fist he held a wooden handled butchers meat hook, the end of which bore traces of blood and what looked like flesh.

Looking him up and down Sherlock shoved his hands in his pockets and walked further into the room.

"Kill me? Don't be boring."


	26. Dirty Fighting

As fights go it was short, dirty, and over in seconds. The suspect swung his arm in a wide arc, aiming the sharp spike of the hook at Sherlock's eyes, but he hadn't accounted for the speed and dexterity of his opponent.

Almost bending over backwards to stay out of range of the lethal weapon, Sherlock's hand snaked out and caught the other man by his hair while his other hand pushed the weapon away, forcing the perpetrator to stumble round.

Having gained the upper hand Sherlock followed through, pushing the heel of his hand between his adversary's shoulder blades, forcing him forwards while still controlling him by tugging his hair.

With a final burst of movement he pushed the villain's head through the closed window.

"Now don't move," he hissed viciously "or I'll force your throat onto that jagged glass and that will be it. Goodnight Vienna."

Behind him came the sounds of his three companions, running up the stairs.

"Sherlock?" John shouted breathlessly.

"In here."

Sally was first through the door, and immediately stepped in to 'rescue' the smaller man. Handcuffing him she looked towards Sherlock.

"You really are an evil sod, aren't you?" She said, her distaste of his methods evident in her voice.

"Oh, you have no idea." He responded, looking out at the animal's dead body.


	27. Back to Left Bank

Glancing skyward through the window Sherlock turned and strode towards John.

"You can handle it from here Lestrade?" despite the inflection it was a statement not a question. "John and I have somewhere else to be."

"Sorry." John shrugged apologetically at the officer.

"Thanks for your help." Lestrade's words were for them both, but he aimed them at John.

"How can you hang around with that freak?" Sally asked as the two were leaving.

"Because Sherlock's a great man, and with a little help he may even become a good one." The blond man replied before hurrying out of the door to catch up with the object of their discussion.

They clattered down the stairs and out into the still air.

"I hope you aren't thinking of trying to change me." Sherlock said as they strode down the street in search of a cab. "I rather enjoy my 'bad' reputation."

John chuckled.

"Nah," he said. "I'll carry the baton for the good guys so you can carry on with your reputation untarnished."

Sherlock stopped and looked at him, eyes alight with mirth, and the pair dissolved into laughter.

"Come on," Sherlock urged his friend. "We've less than an hour 'til dawn."

They reached the cab stand and climbed into the first vehicle.

"Pont au Double," he instructed the driver. "Left bank."


	28. There's Always Something

**Here it is - the final chapter! Before you read on I want to that each and every reader/reviewer for putting up with my little quirks and paragraphic stories - so, thank you all, very much!**

In silence they stepped out of the cab just metres away from where they had first met, and slowly walked back to stand in front of the great gothic edifice.

John turned and offered his hand, and after the barest pause Sherlock shook it.

"Thanks for letting me join in the fun." John said with a smile.

"Anytime." For a moment Sherlock looked confused, then realised that actually, he really meant it.

John nodded and turned away, walking around the side of the building and out of sight.

Ever curious, Sherlock followed. He reached the corner of the building just in time to see John heave himself up and through a small open window, and after a moment or two he climbed up after him.

Peering through, he caught sight of his new friend standing by the ornate carvings beside the cathedral organ

"Well what did you expect?" John asked softly, turning to look directly at Sherlock. "After all, I'm the good guy!" and he stepped back melting into the woodwork, his face filling the space where moments ago a cherub had been missing.

With a muttered "There's always _something_." Sherlock hurried back around to the front of the building and started to climb.

And with seconds to spare, a missing gargoyle moved back into its place, just as dawn broke.


End file.
